Chapter 71

The One With A Punch

NATE

Several weeks earlier

(A few days before the event where Nate and Arielle were first reunited)

When my doorbell rings, I’m not sure who to expect. Over the last few months working for Ezra, the only people who really come to my house anymore are people that work for him. Typically, it’s Langley, but there have been other employees that have swung by.

I’m expecting that it’s likely Langley. He only told me yesterday that in a few days Ezra wants us to provide security by accompanying him to some event and I’ve been dreading it ever since I was first told about it. Just what I want to do ... socialize with rich snobs while pretending to listen to them complain about their first world problems.

I have problems of my own to deal with.

As I swing the door open, I can’t even begin to describe the feeling that courses through me. It’s immediate, it’s fast, it’s searing hot and painful as my eyes find the face that greets me.

QuickDraw.

I don’t have a chance to register the fact that it’s him. My body just instantly reacts on the rage that consumes me and my arm swings back and then forward so that my fist collides with his nose. It’s a hard punch—the hardest I’ve ever given someone—and it literally knocks him to his ass.

He tumbles onto my front porch, groaning out in pain.

My knuckles ache and I clench my jaw together as the familiar feeling of blood seeping from a wound occurs somewhere on my hand. I don’t care though, I step forward and grab the fucker by his collar and punch him a second and third time.

He doesn’t fight back, he just lies there helplessly until I force myself to take a step back.

I hate the fucker, but I don’t want to kill him, despite the fact that it’s the only thought my body is focusing on. I’m physically fighting the urge to kick his ribs, break his bones, make him feel a sense of pain that’s only a mere semblance of what I’ve gone through. Of what Arielle has gone through.

However, I stop myself, pacing across the front porch to redirect that manic energy elsewhere.

For a moment, I focus on the ache in my knuckles, but it only makes me think of the gunshot, the stab wound, the time I was beaten to a pulp by Langley. It only makes me further see red.

I glance down at him, clutching his face as blood begins to cover my decking.

“You’re lucky I’m not gonna’ fuckin’ kill you,” I mutter. I don’t want to go back to jail, I can’t. I don’t think I’d survive a second stint, I barely survived the first.

I lean over my front railing, gripping the wooden surface with my hands. “The fuck are you doing here?”

I hear the sound of him spitting—likely because his mouth has filled with blood—but I’m unable to look at him. I know if I do, I’ll fucking see red again and want to punch him until I can’t feel my knuckles anymore.

There aren’t a lot of people on this earth that I hate. Hate has always seemed a strong word with me, but fucking QuickDraw is one of those at the very top of that short list.

What he’s done to Arielle and I is unforgivable. The shit he’s pulled on Arielle alone is unforgivable, never mind what he’s done to me. The scheming, fucking snake of a man.

“I’m here to help you,” he mutters and I look down at him again, surprised to hear those words leave his mouth, but not believing him. How could I possibly believe anything that comes out of his mouth? He’s never liked me, I’ve never liked him, and ever since we crossed paths, it’s been his sole mission to destroy me.

So why exactly would he randomly appear on my porch after so many months and expect me to trust him?

I can’t help but laugh dryly, it’s just so fucking idiotic. I cradle my injured hand in the other as I turn to him, rubbing fresh blood off my knuckles. I’m not sure whose it is, but as I attempt to brush it away, it only spreads further.

“I’m serious,” he assures me. “Ari’s in trouble and doesn’t even realize it. You’re the only one that can help her. You’re my only hope.”

I’ll admit, I perk up at that. My shields are still up, strong as fuck, but the sound of Arielle potentially being in danger is my weakness. She’s my weakness. I can’t help it. I’m so madly in love with the damn woman that I’d give up my own life for hers. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her—including possibly working for one of the only people I truly detest with everything I am.

“What makes you think I’d ever believe a word out of your lying fuckin’ mouth?”

He sits himself up, leaning against the railing. He tucks a MacBook against his side, patting his hand down onto the surface of it twice. “I have evidence to back up everything.” He sighs, “Besides, if you don’t believe me, you don’t believe me. There isn’t shit I can do about that, but if you don’t believe me then she’s in trouble and I honestly don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You keep saying she’s in trouble, what the fuck does that mean exactly?”

He glances over his shoulder, “It involves Ezra.”

I won’t lie, my heart starts to race.

Ever since I’ve been out, I’ve been worried about what he’s planning. The fucker is so unpredictable and he’s always planning something. He seems determined to completely fuck with Arielle’s life, so I’m not surprised that QuickDraw is saying that, I just don’t know what the truth is when it comes to him.

It doesn’t sound far fetched, it’s just ... can I trust him?

Another thing I’ve been worried about ever since I’ve been an employee of Ezra’s is whether or not he’s watching me. I’m positive he keeps constant tabs on his entire crew, I just don’t know to what extent.

“If we’re gonna’ talk, we need to get off the fuckin’ front porch,” I comment, glancing back and forth across the street. I don’t see anybody sitting in their car, but how can I really be sure? “Don’t get up,” I demand, “Crawl inside.”

He thinks I’m kidding, but I’m not and I simply stare at him until he crawls on his hands and knees, dragging his laptop with him.

Alright, so maybe that was excessive, but it’s nice to see the fucker on his hands and knees.

Might as well kiss my damn ass while he’s down there.

I pull the blinds to shroud us in darkness and he—as an unwanted guest in my house—makes himself right at home, sitting at the island with his laptop after wiping the blood from his nose with a paper towel. As I walk towards him, I’m smirking because I once fucked Arielle in the exact spot he’s sitting.

It feels fucking karmic.

“I think I need to say something—and prove it to you, for that matter—before anything else.” I grab myself a beer, feeling like I need some liquor for this, not bothering to offer him jack shit. “You’re not gonna’ believe me, but I’m not the one that sent you to prison.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe you.”

The thing is, though, that a part of me has always been conflicted about who put me in jail. Even though I’ve more strongly thought that QuickDraw was the reason I ended up there, I’ve had my strong suspicions about Ezra too. Of course I have, I’m not ignorant to his maliciousness.

However, when it came to QuickDraw, everything just seemed to line up too perfectly. All the signs were right fucking there and so, it was easy to place any and all blame on him. Plus, he fucked off and left town, which made it look even more suspicious to me.

After searching on his computer for a minute or two, he eventually turns it around and shows me a folder that holds some photographs. I open them and study each carefully. I don’t need to ask who they’re of, it’s obviously Ezra, Vivien and the Judge who handed down my sentence.

It doesn’t shock me that he’s cozy with one of the big judges here. It would explain why my sentence was so harsh, too. But it doesn’t exactly prove anything.

“All this proves is that Ezra and Lafayette are close.”

It’s going to take a lot more than that to convince me.

“Okay, let me ask you this: did Ari ever tell you about her arrest?” He inquires and then spins his laptop around to search for something else.

“‘Course. She was attacked, spent time in prison, was cleared.”

“That’s all?”

“She told me every single thing that happened, I’m sure of it.” What the fuck is he trying to do? Some sort of pissing contest to prove he knows her more than I do?

Doesn’t exactly mean anything when he’s a cop that has unlimited access to all her detailed files, which he can glean over any time he wants.

“Did she tell you that Ezra’s the reason she went to prison?”

“What?” Is he being serious right now?

“Does she not know that?”

I shrug my shoulders, “Fuck, I don’t think so. I don’t know. I’m sure if she did, she would’ve told me that.”

“Well, it is. Here, listen to this.” He depresses the button on his laptop and turns the sound up and Ezra’s voice instantly fills my ears, echoing in the silent space of my house.

“You’ve done it for me twice before, John.”

It’s Ezra, and it sounds like he’s talking to Judge Lafayette.

“Remind me again who that was for.”

“Arielle, my daughter.” I cringe. “You had your cousin handle her case, got her sentenced on an assault charge for me.”

“What’d she do to piss you off, Sullivan? That charge was bullshit and we got lucky with that one,” the Judge scolds.

“She needed to be taught a lesson, and it worked out wonderfully. You know I paid you generously for that.”

“And the second case I dealt with for you that you’re referring to?”

Ezra clears his throat, “His name was Nate. Just a few weeks back. Drug trafficking charges.”

“Ah, yes. I remember him.”

I clench my teeth together. Racist fuck.

“What are you getting at here, Sullivan?”

“I need you to do me one more favour. I’ll up your payment because this one’s special.”

I can almost hear the damn smirk in Ezra’s voice.

“Go on then.”

“I need you to send my daughter Arielle away again. I’ve got something in the works, it’ll be easy as fuck to nab her this time. I’m positive you’ll be able to put her away for at minimum, a decade.”

“Alright, well, if it’s as easy as you claim it is, then it’s a done deal. However, I’ll obviously need you to send details before I fully commit. When will I be expecting those for?”

“A few more things need to fall in place yet, but for sure, by late Spring.”

“Sounds good, Sullivan. Listen, I’ve got to go, I’ve got trial in ten minutes.”

QuickDraw presses pause and the immediate silence is fucking deafening.

Ezra has plans to send Arielle away?

And soon, too. Spring isn’t all that far away, which means I don’t have much time to save her from whatever he has planned.

Fuck, never mind that, he sent her away the first time? Does that mean he paid some random fucking guy to assault Arielle so that he could send her off to prison? And as some sort of way to keep her in line? What the actual fuck is wrong with this man?

How does Arielle not know this? Maybe she does and she hasn’t told me, but for some reason I don’t think she does. I legitimately think she believes it was some random asshole, not a paid asshole who only did what he was told to do.

As if I couldn’t hate Ezra more than I already do, Jesus Christ.

Also, what in the fuck is he planning for her? I can’t even begin to imagine what sort of twisted, fucked up plan he’s created to send her away. Imagine this, his first plan to send her away didn’t work. It was only successful for a few weeks, so now he’s more determined and experienced than ever. I have no doubt he’ll be able to accomplish it if no one’s standing in his way.

I know I have no trust and no respect for QuickDraw, but I have to give this to him. I know what I heard. Those were both Ezra and Lafayette’s voices. I know them both well. I’ve worked with Ezra for weeks and I stood for hours in front of Lafayette in a court listening to him speak, and everything they said on that tape was as clear cut as it could ever be. There’s no denying what they’re planning.

I just don’t know the specifics of it—not yet, at least.

“Where’d you get this?” I ask, as anger courses through my veins, leaving my tone a bit on edge.

“I had someone inside with a wire. He managed to get this tape, but he was killed about three days later when Ezra discovered the device.”

I think back and the puzzle pieces click together, “Are you talking about Steve?”

He nods his head. “Steven Plinsky.”

I remember him. He was only around for maybe a week and then Langley told me Ezra slit his throat. Slit it so roughly that he nearly decapitated the guy. He was not happy when he found out the guy was taping him. Obviously, he must have hid the tapes well, though, if the police got their hands on them before Ezra did.

I can’t even imagine what’s been recorded on those. If the guy managed to get this tape—which is incriminating enough—he had to have gotten more. I’d think this tape alone is enough to get some charges raised against the two of them, but the thing is, we’d have to take it to the right people. I’m positive that Ezra has many men in his pocket, so you’d have to find someone who still has an ounce of morality.

“So, if Ezra was the reason I went in, why’d he get me out?” Now I’m just completely thrown for a loop. Not only am I still trying to register the fact that Ezra paid some guy to sexually assault Arielle so she’d get sent to prison, but there’s so many questions left unanswered about the last few months.

“I’m assuming that’s what he told you?” QuickDraw’s attention is still delved deep into his laptop, instead of focusing on me as he asks the question.

“Yeah, something about calling in some favours or connections or some shit.”

He laughs, “That’s bullshit. He probably made the calls, but he’s not the reason you’re out.”

I duck my head as if to inaudibly urge him to continue.

“Again, you won’t believe me, but I’m the reason you’re out.”

Am I in some alternate universe? Did I wake up on another fucking planet? Because none of this is making any sense and it’s as if every time he speaks, it only further confuses me and raises more questions, if that’s even possible.

“Let me back up a second.” He sighs, “A few days before you were first arrested, I had a mental breakdown and my parents ended up admitting me to a psychiatric hospital for evaluation.”

I’m not surprised, he seemed rather unhinged the last time I saw him. Although, I really shouldn’t jump to conclusions about someone else’s mental health.

“I was diagnosed with what’s called complicated grief disorder,” he spins the laptop as he speaks it to show me some sort of admittance form. I fact check as he continues to speak. “Anyways, I spent several weeks in there—as you can see—but while I was away, one of my superiors found my notes on Ezra and he ultimately started looking into your arrest while I was away.”